


like the wind (through my tree)

by kenwayyed (stray_magister)



Series: no we without you and I [1]
Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Mikoto lives, Post-Canon Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-12-29 20:07:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18301079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stray_magister/pseuds/kenwayyed
Summary: If pressed, Misaki couldn't explain, even to himself, how he's managed to end up like this – this being him and Saruhiko Fushimi locked together in a small studio (complete with a wall-length mirror and everything) with music playing softly in the background, with Misaki down to his tank top, his jacket and sweater discarded somewhere in the corner, with Saruhiko’s hand clasping his own and another hand at his waist.This isn’t real life. It’s impossible that this is his actual life.





	like the wind (through my tree)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [harupie](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=harupie).



> I have no idea what this even is. Don't take this too seriously :')
> 
> This work was inspired by a late-night conversation between me and [harupie](http://harupie.tumblr.com) whilst trying to find the most cringe-worthy karaoke song, and Dirty Dancing came up. Whelp. 
> 
> This work is also a collaboration - harupie's paired comic can be found [here](http://harupie.tumblr.com/post/183850000717/just-follow-my-lead-saruhiko-says-tightening).
> 
> The title comes from "She's like the Wind" from Dirty Dancing - because of course it does.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

i

If pressed, Misaki couldn't explain, even to himself, how he's managed to end up like this – _this_ being him and Saruhiko Fushimi locked together in a small studio (complete with a wall-length mirror and everything) with music playing softly in the background, with Misaki down to his tank top, his jacket and sweater discarded somewhere in the corner, with Saruhiko’s hand clasping his own and another hand at his waist.

This isn’t real life. It’s impossible that this is his actual life.

“You’re gripping my hand too hard,” he grouses, glaring at the hand in question. “Why’re you’re the one leading, anyway? You suck at it. I should do it.”

“Less complaining, Yata-chan,” comes Kusanagi’s cheerful voice from the middle of the room before Saruhiko can reply. “We only have the studio for so long today.” He has one arm around Awashima’s waist and looks perfectly comfortable being so close to her, even with eight other people around them.

Then again, he is going to kiss her in front of way more people at their wedding in six weeks, so he’ll have to be comfortable with her, Misaki supposes.

The wedding is the whole reason he’s here, somehow. Somehow, he let himself be roped into performing as a background dancer at their opening dance – with _Saruhiko_ , of all people.

Saruhiko, who’s way closer to him than he’s been in a very long time and who has a solid grip on his hand, who looks good in just his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows and his shirt untucked from his pants, a small sheen of perspiration on his face and his cheeks slightly flushed even as he fixes Misaki with a dark look of annoyance.

Not that Misaki’s paying attention or anything.

“He’s right, Mi-sa-ki,” Saruhiko drawls in that way of his that pisses Misaki off without fail. “Girls should be quiet and follow their partner’s lead.”

Misaki instantly sees red.

“You asshole,” he hisses, ripping his hand away from Saruhiko’s grip. “I’ll show you who’s a girl—”

“ _Yata-chan_ ,” says Kusanagi, just that bit more insisting, and Misaki’s mouth snaps shut. Grumbling to himself, he steps closer to Saruhiko and offers up his hand. He pretends not to notice Saruhiko’s self-satisfied smile as he casts a look around the room.

At least they’re not the only ones roped into this. There is Anna, twirling at Dewa Masaomi’s hand with ease. She was Kumamoto’s dance partner originally, but he’d been making eyes at a Scepter 4 girl Misaki has only seen once or twice before, and so Anna claimed Dewa as her partner last rehearsal, leaving the Scepter 4 girl free for Kumamoto, who took the opportunity and ran with it.

Misaki is glad someone’s enjoying himself.

Well, having said that – no one else seems really bothered by the arrangement. Kumamoto is on cloud nine, obviously, and the girl seems friendly enough to him; Anna and Dewa look completely at ease, and the two Scepter 4 guys Misaki has seen Saruhiko talk to – he doesn’t know their names; he thinks of them as “Hair That Defies Gravity” and “Megumi,” because the brunet’s hair reminds him of his sister’s – don’t seem to mind having to dance together at all. Maybe it’s just Misaki who feels absolutely miserable.

Then again, he’s the only one who has to dance with Saruhiko.

“You’re doing it on purpose,” he growls when Saruhiko’s grip turns painful for the third time in a row on the same turn.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Saruhiko says airily, and does it again. Misaki catches the last trace of his smirk by the time he’s twirled back around.

“You—” he starts angrily, but can’t get much further than that, because the music stops and Kusanagi calls for the end of rehearsal, and Saruhiko drops his hand even before Kusanagi has finished speaking.

Seriously?

“Better practice before next time, Misaki,” says Saruhiko, scooping up his jacket from the bench near the wall in one smooth motion. “You wouldn’t want to embarrass yourself at the actual dance.”

He pauses, pulls one arm through his sleeve.

“Well,” he adds then, and Misaki feels hot anger thrum in his veins, “more than you usually do, anyway.”

It’s tempting to get up in Saruhiko’s face and beat the crap out of him. He’s done it before. It would feel very satisfying to land a bruise on Saruhiko’s perfect cheekbones, feel the ache in his knuckles for long after.

But he promised Kusanagi he’d behave.

(And, if he’s honest with himself, it would only be satisfying for a moment, before the ache in his hand turned sour and reminded him he’d let Saruhuko get to him. Again.)

So, instead, Misaki throws Saruhiko a look he hopes is scathing, and turns sharply on one heel. He stomps out of the room and yanks on his headphones.

Saying yes to this was the _worst_ idea of his life.

 ii

It had been Kusanagi’s idea, because all ideas designed to ruin Misaki’s life were somehow Kusanagi’s. Misaki didn’t know why he’d said yes. It must have had something to do with that glint in Kusanagi’s eyes, or perhaps his knife-edge smile – the kind he reserves for people who’ve put a scratch on his bar. It was the kind of smile Misaki knew meant trouble, and he’d been with HOMRA long enough to know that an angry Kusanagi was something to actively avoid.

If he’d known Kusagani would take pleasure in pairing him off with Saruhuko, he would have declined and suffered the consequences, but they were already at the first rehearsal and it was too late to back out.

And, worst of all, Kusagani and his bride-to-be had been arguing about their choice of song for the past fifteen minutes.

“Absolutely not,” Awashima said firmly.

“But Seri-chan,” said Kusanagi, for the fifth time at least, “it’s a classic.”

“I’m not dancing to _Time of My Life_ in front of two hundred people. I’d break my back on that lift alone.”

“Think of how romantic it would be!”

“I will call of this wedding, Kusanagi. Don’t think I won’t.”

“Ah,” sighed Kusanagi, shoulders drooping with disappointment, and Misaki knew exactly what was coming, “but I’ve always dreamed I’d one day dance like that with Seri-chan. I know all the steps and everything.”

“You do not,” said Awashima, but she didn’t sound too sure of herself and Misaki could tell from the look on her face that she wasn’t any more immune to Kusanagi’s dejected face than the rest of them.

“Fine,” said Awashima mere moments later, grimacing when Kusanagi immediately perked up and all but leapt to his feet. “I’ll give it _one try_ , but if it doesn’t work, we’re going for _I’m Yours_.”

“Whatever you say.” Kusanagi sounded far too pleased with himself and Misaki had a sudden vision of himself on the dance floor of whatever place Kusanagi and Awashima had rented out for the reception, hand clasped in Saruhiko’s – because Kusanagi was a sadist – while twirling around to the most cringe-worthy song in the history of movie music.

He glanced longingly at the door, which seemed so far out of reach, and lamented ever having said yes.

On the way back, his gaze met Saruhiko’s. He’d been looking bored throughout the entire discussion surrounding Kusanagi and Awashima’s song choice, but he was watching Misaki now, eyes glinting with that same spark they’d had when he’d persuaded Misaki to swipe a bottle of coke from the shelf near the check-out at the convenience store when they were fifteen.

In the years after, Misaki had come to learn that that particular glint meant that whatever Saruhiko was up to, it wasn’t anything good.

Misaki looked away with a huff, but he could still feel Saruhiko’s eyes burning into the side of his head.

Kusanagi, meanwhile, had pulled Awashima to her feet. Anna was near the laptop at the edge of the room, scrolling through a list of songs until she found the one she was looking for. With the quick press of a button, the first notes of _Time of My Life_ filtering into the room.

“Don’t worry, Seri-chan,” Kusanagi said to Awashima once they had taken up their positions in the middle of the studio, “I won’t drop you.”

He did, in fact, drop her at the very beginning of the lift, and she gave him such a dark look that he couldn’t change the song to Jason Mraz’ _I’m Yours_ fast enough.

Misaki felt such a surge of relief at the change in song choice that he failed to notice the speculative look Saruhiko was giving him behind his back.

 

 iii

There’s a reason Misaki dreads every rehearsal he’s semi-obliged to go to. It’s not something he wants to admit to anyone, even to himself, but it becomes more and more apparent each time he’s told to take up position in Saruhiko’s arms.

And since they rehearse three times a week, because Awashima is a perfectionist even though having background dancers wasn’t her idea, it’s pretty damn apparent pretty damn soon.

It’s not that he hates dancing with Saruhiko, or even that he hates spending a few hours each week in his presence. It’s not that he minds their eternal griping and arguing. If anything, he’s grown so used to it that it’s almost comforting.

It’s that he hates the moment when Awashima calls for the end of rehearsal, and Saruhiko steps away from him, and they go their separate ways. Saruhiko isn’t particularly brusque or mean about it, but the fact remains that he steps away from Misaki and exits the studio without looking back every single time.

It reminds Misaki too much of that day Saruhiko burned off the mark on his collarbone and left him behind.

Which is ridiculous. They’re not on opposite sides anymore. But the memory still stings, because even after everything, they didn’t go back to the way they used to be.

Because, even after everything, it’s still Misaki left behind while Saruhiko walks away, and Misaki doesn’t have the words to stop him.

So he rubs harshly against his collarbone and tells himself it doesn’t matter. He survived Saruhiko walking away once before; it’s not as if he can’t do it again.

Right.

 iv

He almost forgets _Time of My Life_ was ever on the table as a serious contender for a song, at least until he walks into the studio two weeks later and hears it filter through the crappy speakers of a phone.

For an awful moment, he thinks Kusanagi has somehow convinced Awashima to change songs after all, but when he walks into the studio proper, there’s no one there but Saruhiko, sitting against the far wall with his phone in his hand, eyes trained on the screen and a look of absolute concentration on his face.

He’s so focused that he doesn’t seem to have heard Misaki come in.

What the hell?

“What the hell are you doing?” The words leave him before he can stop them and startle him more than they do Saruhiko, who does look up from his phone so quickly Misaki is faintly impressed it doesn’t give him immediate whiplash, but whose face is entirely blank and unbothered.

He locks his phone without looking away from Misaki and rises smoothly to his feet.

“Why so interested, Mi-sa-ki? I thought you didn’t want anything to do with that song. You looked practically green when Awashima agreed to try it out.”

The way Saruhiko drags out his name would have bothered Misaki on any other day, but there is something off about Saruhiko’s tone, as if he’s less comfortable with the situation as he appears. Now that he’s no longer preoccupied with his phone, he doesn’t want to look at Misaki, for one.

They’re not exactly friends anymore – and that doesn’t hurt to think about, it _doesn’t_ – but Misaki recognizes that particular evasiveness for what it is. Saruhiko used to avoid his gaze whenever something was bothering him when they were younger, too.

“So what were you doing listening to it?” Misaki grumbles, sticking his hands into his pockets.

“None of your business,” Saruhiko replies, far too quickly to be convincing, and Misaki wants to press him for an answer, but before he can get the words out, the doors to the studio open to admit Kusanagi, and Saruhiko takes the opportunity to get as far away from Misaki as possible.

There’s no good moment to ask after that, what with Awashima and Anna and Kumamoto and the others filtering into the room for rehearsal, so Misaki reluctantly lets it go.

Though he can’t quite get the look on Saruhiko’s face when he was looking at what must have been the dance scene from _Dirty Dancing_ out of his mind.

Stupid monkey.

 v

(During that very same rehearsal, when they’re having a quick break in between run-throughs, Seri offers Izumo her bottle of water and looks out over the various people they’ve gathered.

“Why did you want to include them, anyway?” she asks him as she watches Yata chat with Anna while Fushimi tries and fails not to stare. “You never explained.”

Izumo caps the bottle and offers it back to her with that secretive smile of his that Seri pretends not to find charming.

“You’ll see,” is all he says, which is what he said when Seri asked him about it the first time, too. She sighs and takes a sip from the bottle and doesn’t ask.

There is a brief pause.

“I still think we should have asked Mikoto and Munakata to join, too,” Izumo says then, entirely serious, and Seri suppresses a shudder at the thought of the Captain and Suoh Mikoto in the same room.

“Don’t even think about it.”)

 vi

The suit feels way too tight. Misaki isn’t even wearing his jacket – had refused to; he couldn’t move in it at all – but his shirt and waistcoat alone have been driving him crazy all day. He doesn’t know how Saruhiko can stand wearing his Scepter 4 uniform all day, or the expensive-looking suit he’d showed up to the wedding ceremony in. It looks tailored, too, even more so than Misaki’s suit. Misaki’s suit looks okay on him; Saruhiko’s looks like the designer had had him in mind when making the first sketch.

Not that Misaki’s paying attention, or anything.

Luckily, he managed to stick close to the rest of the HOMRA guys for most of the day; Awashima and Kusanagi – or, well, the Kusanagis now, really – had opted for a traditional seating arrangement for the actual ceremony, which meant that Misaki had been wedged in between Mikoto and Kumamoto, and Saruhiko had been on the other side of the aisle, tucked away into a corner.

The seating plan for the reception had been carefully chosen, too, no doubt orchestrated by Awashima. If Kusanagi had made the seating arrangements, he would have put HOMRA and Scepter 4 at the same table for shits and giggles. Misaki is grateful that Awashima knows how to put her foot down.

But it’s the actual party, now, and the hour is inching ever closer to Kusanagi and Awashima’s opening dance, and Misaki has somehow found himself entirely alone. Mikoto has vanished to one of the tables, where he dropped into an empty chair next to Munakata. Misaki has seen them exchange words with strained smiles well in place.

(Privately, he thinks it’s a good thing that they no longer have access to the Dresden Slate, or he and Munakata would have clashed at least once, by now.)

The point is, Misaki is alone, clutching a glass of something alcoholic like a lifeline and freaking out more by the second, when Saruhiko pops up next to him, amused smirk in place and eyes glittering.

“Ready for our dance, Misaki?” he drawls, going so far as to sling an arm around Misaki’s shoulders. He’s spoken far too loudly, too; he’s drawn the attention of some of the people around them.

Misaki feels his face heat up. He can’t push Saruhiko away from him fast enough.

“Shut up, stupid monkey,” he snaps, feeling the heat in his face rise up to his hair. He can only imagine how red his face must look. “Don’t make it sound like it’s our wedding dance.”

He realizes what he’s said a second too late. Saruhiko clearly gets there faster than he does, since the smile on his face only widens.

“Oh?” He’s obviously pleased with himself. “You sound disappointed, Misaki. Is there something you’d like to tell me?”

Misaki’s face feels like it’s on fire. He can only sputter with indignation. Words are too much of a task right now.

_Stupid monkey._

He’s saved – in so much as it’s a rescue at all – by Anna, who pops up at his elbow with Dewa at her back.

“It’s starting,” is all she says, and then she’s weaving her way through the guests towards the dance floor. When the crowd parts to let her through, Misaki catches a glimpse of Kusanagi and Awashima, already on the dance floor.

Dread curling in his stomach, Misaki puts his glass down on a nearby table and trudges over to them. The room suddenly seems inexorably large; the walk takes forever and yet not long enough. Before he’s well and truly ready, he’s reached the dance floor, and Saruhiko is there with him, and they take their place at one corner of the floor.

This was the worst idea he’s ever had. He should have said no the second Kusanagi opened his mouth to ask him.

And then the cheerful tune of _I’m Yours_ filters into the room through the speakers, and Saruhiko’s hand is gripping his and Saruhiko’s arm is around his waist, and he’s moving.

It is, all in all, not so bad as he imagined. There are a few catcalls in the very beginning, but he doesn’t think they’re actually meant for him and Saruhiko. And sure, having Saruhiko so close is distracting and torture all on its own, but he knows the steps and the dance isn’t complicated or overly sappy. He can get through it with minimal embarrassment, and does.

Before he’s well and truly aware of it, the last of the music falls away, and applause takes it place. He’s facing Kusanagi and Awashima; they’re glowing, their smiles easy and familiar, and Kusanagi is gentle when he leans in to kiss her.

Misaki is suddenly very aware of Saruhiko’s hand on his waist. He shrugs it off and steps away, turns away to make his way off the dance floor. The room feels suddenly stifling.

Before he can get very far, however, the music starts up again, and he recognizes, much to his dismay, the opening lines of _Time of My Life_.

Well, if Kusanagi wants to embarrass himself and his new wife, he’s free to. Misaki is just going to get some air.

But there is a hand around his arm, halting his progress, and he recognizes the touch from the many weeks of rehearsals and years of friendship before that. He’d know that hand anywhere.

“What’s the big—” he starts, whirling around to tell Saruhiko to back off, but the second he looks at Saruhiko, the words die on his tongue. Gone is Saruhiko’s usual grin, the dangerous glint in his eyes. In their stead is an earnestness and a seriousness Misaki hasn’t seen on him in a very long time; the sight of it takes away any protest he might otherwise have managed.

When Saruhiko pulls at his hand, Misaki follows, until they’re in the middle of the dance floor, and his hand is once again in Saruhiko’s. Aside from the song, the room is entirely quiet.

Even if it hadn’t been, Misaki doesn’t think he would have had eyes for anything but Saruhiko, who pulls him closer until his other hand rests comfortably on Misaki’s waist again, as if it’s never been anywhere else.

_I’ve been waiting for so long, now I’ve finally found someone..._

“Just follow my lead,” Saruhiko says, tightening his hold on Misaki’s hand and Misaki is helpless to do anything but that. Saruhiko steps, and Misaki does too. He remembers to put a hand on Saruhiko’s shoulder just in time.

It takes him a few tries, but once he stops paying attention to his own feet and allows Saruhiko to guide him through the steps, it’s easy to see what he’s supposed to do.

And that’s when it hits him. Saruhiko knows exactly how to move, which foot to place where, when to pull Misaki closer to him and when to spin him away.

That bastard. He’s memorized the whole routine.

There’s no room to protest, however, because while this might be the cheesiest thing he’d never thought he’d allow himself to get into, he can’t deny the racing of his heart, or the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth when Saruhiko spins him around and catches his hand with seemingly little effort.

It’s cheesy and entirely awful, but Misaki can’t remember a time he had this much _fun_.

He’s pretty sure they’re not perfect – the only times he’s ever seen this particular dance was when Minoru and Megumi made him sit through a viewing of _Dirty Dancing_ when he was still in high school and that one failed attempt of Kusanagi and Awashima’s. He didn’t memorize the steps like Saruhiko seems to have. They’re not perfect by any means, but they’re perfect enough, and it seems to _work_ , somehow.

Perhaps the exhilaration explains why, when Saruhiko lets go of him and steps back, Misaki doesn’t hesitate for a second. Saruhiko’s grin is inviting, and Misaki knows what he’s supposed to do. If he’d stopped to think for even a second, he would have realized what a bad idea it is, what he’s about to do, but all he can see is the curve of Saruhiko’s mouth, Saruhiko’s arms open to receive him, and he’s running, and he jumps.

Saruhiko catches him around the hips, and he’s floating, held up by Saruhiko’s arms. He hears himself laugh, and he looks down, and finds Saruhiko’s lips curled into a smile. He looks entirely carefree and, dare Misaki think it, happy.

Which is, of course, when Saruhiko’s arms begin to tremble, and Misaki loses his balance, and they crash to the floor.

He lands painfully on his elbow and he feels Saruhiko’s breath rush against his cheek. He becomes aware that his other elbow is digging into Saruhiko’s stomach and scrambles to get it out of the way. He can’t get very far; his legs won’t cooperate just yet, and Saruhiko’s arm is tight around his waist.

Bracing an arm on the floor, Misaki lifts himself up to look Saruhiko in the eye, fully intending to say something along the lines of what a stupid idea it was to attempt that lift when Awashima and Kusanagi had failed at it only six weeks before, but as soon as he moves, he realizes just how close their faces are, and the words die on his tongue. He’s very aware of his heartbeat, pounding loudly in his ears.

Saruhiko, by contrast, seems entirely calm. His eyes are bright as they fix on the lower part of Misaki’s face and his arm remains tight around Misaki’s waist.

“Hey, Misaki,” says Saruhiko, and he doesn’t endlessly drag out the name, for once, “you’re going to have to lean down.” He pauses. Some of the old, familiar glint returns to his eyes and he adds, “I can’t exactly lean up. You’re too heavy.”

Under different circumstances, the comment would have sent Misaki sputtering with anger. But the expression on Saruhiko’s face is soft, taking the sting from the words and gentling them into the tease they’re supposed to be, and Misaki knows what he’s supposed to do.

He huffs out a soft breath of laughter, plants his arm next to Saruhiko’s head, and leans down.

Saruhiko’s smile tastes even better than it looks.

 vii

(Of course, the moment is ruined several minutes later, when Munakata marches onto the dance floor with a far-too-smug-looking Mikoto following at his heels, who then proceeds to draw Munakata almost indecently close, and both Misaki and Saruhiko are too busy trying not gag to even think about making out.

For the first time in his life, Misaki thinks he hates Mikoto a little.) 

viii

“Hey,” Misaki says, weeks later, when he and Saru are sprawled comfortably on the couch in Saruhiko’s apartment, “was that what you were doing, that day I walked in on you looking up the video for _Time of My Life_? Were you memorizing the steps?”

Saruhiko, who has been scrolling lazily through a newsfeed on his phone, glances at him and fixes him with a look that clearly says he thinks Misaki is an idiot.

“You’re an idiot,” he says, for good measure, but the words lack bite, and his hand is warm on the back of Misaki’s neck when he pulls him in.

Misaki would protest, but Saruhiko seems to have a penchant for kissing him whenever he thinks Misaki’s being an idiot, and Misaki happens to like kissing Saruhiko, now that he can just go ahead and do it.

“You’re the idiot,” he mutters when they break apart, because he can’t help himself. “Idiot.”

“Sure,” sighs Saruhiko, and tightens his hold on Misaki’s neck to pull him back in. His breath is warm against Misaki’s lips. “Now shut up and follow my lead, will you?”

And, just like last time, Misaki does.

At least he doesn’t fall flat on his face, this time.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> As you may have noticed, this fic is part of a series. A Mikorei sequel is in the works and will be out soon~ Stay tuned c;


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